Chicken Little related the most presentable of their doings to Marian. Marian didn't say much at the time, but some days afterwards she told them tales of the adventures of her own early teens. She ended a little meaningly: "Do you know, I believe girls can be sillier from thirteen to sixteen than at any other age? They're exactly like that little buff cochin rooster you laugh at, because he tries to crow and strut before he knows how. I hope you girls won't be in a hurry to grow up. There are so many nice things you can do now that you will have to give up after a while." July was growing unpleasantly hot. The mornings were dewy and fresh, but by noon they were glad to hunt a shady place. The apple orchard was a favorite haunt, and the Weeping Willows when the wind was from the right direction. They took books and crochetting, sometimes the checker board or dominoes, and spent the long summer afternoons there, with Jilly tumbling over their feet and Huz and Buz dozing alongside or lazily snapping at the plaguing flies. They had been picking blackberries mornings for Mrs. Morton's preserving. The rescued litter of pigs was also taking much time. The mother pig had developed an appetite that was truly appalling. It seemed to take endless gallon pails of sour milk and baskets of fruit parings to satisfy her. Dr. Morton would not let them feed corn in summer. "Dear me," said Katy, "how big do little pigs have to be before they can be turned into the corral with the others?" "Oh, six or eight weeks, I guess." "They are getting awfully smelly!" remarked Gertie, holding her nose, "and they aren't a bit pretty any more." "I know and Father said last night we'd have to begin and feed the pigs some, too, before long." Chicken Little sighed. This speculation in pigs had its unpleasant side. "I guess we'd have to bring a lot more stuff if Ernest and Sherm didn't help us out. They give them things to eat lots of times. But I think Jim Bart might keep the pen a little cleaner," Katy observed. "He's so busy he doesn't have time." Another morning occupation was bread-making. Dr. Morton had offered a brand new dollar to the girl who would bring him the first perfect loaf of bread. They were taking turns under Mrs. Morton's teaching, but it did seem as if more things could happen to bread. Katy would have had her perfect loaf, if she hadn't let the dough rise too long. The loaves were beautiful to look at, but slightly sour, alas! Chicken Little spoiled her prize batch by sitting down to read and letting it burn. Gertie's first and second were very good, but a trifle too solid. Katy won out on her third, and produced a loaf so light and crisply brown that Marian said she was envious. The others wanted to stop when Katy secured the dollar, but Mrs. Morton persuaded them to persist until they could equal Katy's. "You may send one to Captain Clarke, if you wish."